When we first looked at this house, the realtor failed to mention that it's built on an automotive Hellmouth. We live on a hilly road on the border between the Village and the Town of Warwick. The Village speed limit for this stretch of road is 30 mph; one you pass into the Town, it bumps up to 35. This is somewhat academic as almost no one pays these limits any heed (as I’m typing this, someone just flew past at - easily - 50 mph). Just above our driveway, some several hundred feet before the Village line, there is a deceptively gentle looking downhill curve. Even in perfect weather conditions, you run the risk of losing control if you’re going a bit too fast. Add in fog or mist or rain or snow or ice and cars go spinning out all the time. Sometimes it’s as simple as skidding a bit, or spinning fully around. Other times it’s off the road and into the shrubs, or our mailbox, or a telephone pole (she SLAMMED into that bad boy so hard they had to replace it the next day. She walked away from her Volvo without a scratch). That last woke me from a sound sleep, screaming, as I heard the impact.

The now familiar shriek of rubber on pavement catches my ear, even as it grabs at my heart. The whine, the hiss, the squeal: everything stills as I wait for the sound of impact. It’s terrible. It's astounding to me that no one’s been seriously hurt in any of these accidents; I fear it’s just a matter of time.

So. Today. Rainy, gray, dreary. I’d just put a batch of snickerdoodle blondies into the oven when I heard it: tires screaming on pavement. I already had the phone in my hand, running toward the front window, when I heard the crash. I looked out to see a car skidding across my front yard, this side of the row of hemlock trees that separates my property from the road.

I ran outside to see a young guy (early twenties) climbing out of his smashed up BMW. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said. Then, “I’ve never been in an accident before!”

After ascertaining there was no blood, nor head or neck pain, I directed him to sit down on the railroad tie wall, told him to take deep breaths, and called 911. A minute later, another car pulled up - the kid’s friend and co-worker, who’d been driving behind him following their end of shift. A few minutes after that, three police cars arrived, and then my across-the-street neighbors, Randy and Karen. We first met over a far less dramatic spin-out, and have since continued out neighborly chats whilst dealing with bashed fenders and splintered hedges.

Long story short: the kid was driving too quickly. He spun out on the downhill curve, smashed off of the road and into our driveway, ticked the enormous tree near the edge of my yard, spun around again and skidded halfway across the yard (onto the septic leach field; here’s hoping that’s okay). He took out several saplings and one small tree, most of my day lilies and the speed limit sign along the way.

"Look at me! LOOK! 35 MPH! Do you think I was stuck in the ground for my health?"

It didn't take long for the DPW sign to go native. Not long after this shot, it smeared itself with mud, grabbed a conch shell and set out to kill a wild boar.

I chatted with my neighbors, with Accident Guy’s friend, with Accident Guy himself and, later, his very sweet and very shaken girlfriend. About an hour in, I cut up some of the snickerdoodle blondies and served them ‘round.

This small tree used to be on the other side of my driveway. It was snapped off, flipped over, and ended up here.

Things were sorted out at last. The tow truck loaded up the expired car, dragging its blown out tire across my already sodden and churned up lawn. The police filled out all the necessary paperwork, explained to A.G. and myself what to expect from the insurance company and what to do if there were any problems. Apparently I should expect some compensation for the damage to my lawn.

A.G. is seriously lucky he skidded up next to this tree and didn't hit it head on. The trunk is huge.

Bonus damage! They towed the poor, ruined car over the lawn on it's blown-out tire, gouging the soaked ground every inch of the way.

Looks like we'll be needing a new mailbox (and post), too.

Carnage. That's where my day lilies used to be, and that small pine tree, and my mailboxes. On the plus side, I now have a random hunk of car!

"No... go on... save... yourself." ::shuddering breath::

My mailbox ended up standing on end. While the police were sorting everything out, the mail carrier came by and - without a moment's hesitation - dropped the day's mail into the box.

Good thing you're a pirate and have access to medicinal rum. I'd suggest making a mailbox post out of rebar, concrete and brick. Might keep them from coming on into the yard when they hit it. I'm glad the insurance feels yard damage is woth paying out. (and the bit with the mailman really made me laugh out loud)